


Red + White

by bauer



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M, Situational Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 20:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6674167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauer/pseuds/bauer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No, not like <i>Carmen</i> Electra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red + White

**Author's Note:**

> I went back and forth over whether I should use Hank's real wife, but Google said she's famous in Sweden, and I didn't do anything too awful, so I kept her... well, she doesn't actually show up in-fic, but she plays a significant role. If that isn't your thing, feel free to back click. No infidelity, high consent (arguably not perfect, but I also hesitate to call it dubious). More specific, spoiler-y summary at the bottom.
> 
> I wrote this between studying and essays. The end is nigh, and I am grateful. Please tell me if I'm missing a tag or made a stupid typo.

Dylan keeps up with the NTDP guys. They’re not all best friends, obviously, but it’s nice knowing other guys are going through the same things. Other people are exhausted by how much longer the NHL season is compared to college, sore from how hard the hits land. Everything else, too.

 “Listen, I love the Moulsons,” Eichs’ saying one afternoon, both of them in near the end of a long road trip and in need of fresh voices. “The kids are adorable. Matty’s been great to me, Alicia hasn’t seriously threatened to kick me out in months. I _love_ them. But, Jesus, is it hard to wheel when your only options for beds are to bring her back to the attic of a family home in the fucking suburbs or in her dorm.”

 “You could just do her in your car,” Dylan says into the phone absently. He’s fairly sure he packed five ties. The current count is three.

 “Yeah, it’s cute that you think you’re joking. I’m so sick of fucking in dorms and paying for Uber rides, Dyl. You had the right idea, with the apartment situation. It’s a good thing we’re getting living together next year, isn’t it, Sammy?” 

“Ah, God,” Reinhart says. Dylan hadn’t realized he’s on speaker, not that he minds. Sam seemed like a good enough kid, at the draft.

Dylan still convinced Jack good the best deal. He thinks back to the last time he was at Henrik’s house, the team white noise behind them while Henrik cooked and Emma glowed next to him, in a team sweatshirt and boyfriend boxers peeking out beneath it. Dylan had sat there and stared and held Love.

He can feel his face turn bright red now, even though the room is empty. So maybe some problems are harder to relate to than others.

Dylan lets them bicker and goes back to digging through his suitcase, trying to find a fresh tie. He’s elbow deep when his fingers connect with something, smooth then rough and catching on the bitten ends of his nails. His heart beats hard as he pulls the fabric out, even though he knows what it is, stuffed it there himself.

Still, the cotton and lace still manages to punch him low in the gut. He runs his fingers over the little bow in front, over a frayed lace decal, resisting the urge to tug at a loose thread. He turns it over in his hands, trying to resist temptation. He glances at the clock and fails.

Dylan hangs up on Jack, claiming he has a flight to catch. It’s not a complete lie. The charter heading back east takes off soon, soon enough that Andreas isn’t going to be coming back and Dylan just barely has time to do this. He rushes through taking his suit back off, but is careful to lay everything out flat and out of the way. Henrik’s voice teasing him about wrinkles is still echoing in his head as he slips the panties up his legs and over his hips.

They don’t fit right, obviously, since they weren’t created with anything extra in mind. The lace digs in on the sides and over his ass, and there’s nowhere for his dick to go, especially when he’s hard. It’s held sticking straight up, head rubbing against his belly. It’s a lewd sight in the mirror.

But that’s not what Dylan _wants_ from this. He doesn’t look at himself long, instead tugging at the lace clinging to his ass before lying back on the bed. He cups a hand around his dick for a few seconds, just holding on, before lightly brushing his fingers up and down the underside. He closes his eyes and allows himself to imagine the Zetterberg’s family room, neat yet lived in and filled with natural light. He imagines Emma, on the couch with Henrik covering her, stealing the laughter straight from her mouth.

Dylan doesn’t let himself linger in this fantasy, skipping forward to the image of Henrik’s strong arms boxing her in as he rubs his cock against her, impatient, trying to fuck into her through the layers separating them, through the same panties Dylan’s wearing. Imagines Henrik sliding his fingers into her mouth as Dylan laves at his own hand. Of course, Henrik wouldn’t need to; she’d already be so wet and ready for him.

Dylan doesn’t let himself groan, but the air feels heavy in his throat. He’s jerking himself hard, fast, rushing, and the fantasy falls apart. The image of Henrik teasing her with just the head of his head poking into her jerks to one of Henrik pounding away with her legs thrown over his shoulders, before blurring out to him eating the come leaking out of her, then jumping back to Henrik keeping close, front to front, kissing Emma, breathing each other in, as his hips barely move except for little circular grinding motions.

His teeth are digging into his lip, thighs twitching, toes curling, _so close,_ when the door opens. 

It would be Henrik. Of _course_ it’s Henrik, who else could it have been?

Guilt rushes through Dylan like a shock. His limbs curl in on himself, except for the hand clamped around the base of his dick. He can’t look at Henrik, can’t move at all. What’s a boy supposed to do, when his captain walks in on him jerking off in his wife’s panties?

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” Henrik says, soft, even as always. Dylan doesn’t feel like he has a good read on him, isn’t sure how to even begin to apologize.

“Um,” Dylan starts as he tries to sit up.  He’s surprised by Henrik’s hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down.

“No. If you want to get off so bad you made the team wait, you should finish.”

Dylan whimpers. Henrik’s hand leaves Dylan’s shoulder to trail down his body steadily, not hesitating or stopping until it reaches his thigh. His fingers dig in, but not meanly. Like he’s trying to get Dylan to relax. Or maybe that’s just what Dylan wants. Henrik’s hands on him, coaxing him to orgasm has been the stuff of wet dreams since before Dylan knew how to put his dick to good use.

The first pull is hesitant, like this is a trap he’s falling into. But Henrik just hums and brings his other hand up to rub at Dylan’s thighs.

Dylan lets out a shuddering breath. The embarrassment had killed his erection a bit, pushed him back from the brink, but Henrik standing over him and looking at him so softly is warming him up again quick. 

“You do look very pretty in these, Dylan,” Henrik says, fingers catching on the elastic and snapping it against the thin skin over his hip bone. It makes Dylan twitch, but it’s not quite a bad pain. It almost distracts him from what Henrik says next.“Do you know what Emma calls them? She says they’re her virgin panties, since they’re so sweet. Like what she wore in secondary school. I wouldn’t have guessed that would be a world to apply to you, but how you’re blushing right now is making me reconsider.”

Dylan’s not, not really, but he feels _young_ around Henrik. Like he might as well be a virgin, when Henrik nudges Dylan’s thighs apart. “You could have asked her, you know,” Henrik continues, not needing a response from Dylan. “Emma’s good with sharing. She’d love playing dress up with you.”

Dylan’s panting. He wants to say something, like _I’m good with being shared,_ but he can barely moan out an affirmative.

“Yeah? Would you like that?” Henrik is pulling at Dylan’s legs, rearranging him, and then a hand is against his ass, groping him. “I think she has a bra that matches these, too. It’s too small for her tits, but it might still fit yours.” 

Dylan can barely think, overwhelmed by Henrik’s hands on him, the implication of this happening again, with Emma, and when Henrik’s finger pushes up against him, rubbing the rough lace up against his hole, Dylan throws his head back and shivers and comes.

Henrik is the one who cleans the come off Dylan’s stomach, and after he kisses him once, lightly, and Dylan has just enough time to wonder how much damage that beard could do before Henrik says, “You got so wet for me, baby,” and Dylan could cry.

Instead, he tucks himself back into his suit, and Henrik escorts him onto the bus with a hand on his nape. They’re greeted with a chorus of chirps, about herding rookies, the team missing dinner dates— about bring your son to work day, and Henrik’s hand tightens on his neck at that, and _oh, God._

**Author's Note:**

> Dylan steals a pair of Emma's panties. Henrik catches him masturbating in them. He's not as angry as he probably should have been. Oh, and Hank's actual kid shows for 0.02 seconds in an absolutely non-sexual role for, like, stupid symbolic purposes.
> 
> [Here's what Dylan was wearing (NSFW, but not, like, incriminating).](http://www.zappos.com/product/8727147/color/636049) Please note the brand name.
> 
> [Here's where to contact me, ft. porn (definitely NSFW and definitely incriminating).](http://ratbarnaby.tumblr.com)


End file.
